What if the key to a more ethical world was already nestled inside our brains? A new study published in Molecular Psychiatry suggests that oxytocin—often called the "love hormone"—may play a significant role in our moral compass.

Researchers found that administering oxytocin via a nasal spray increased feelings of guilt and shame, making folks less willing to harm others, even when such harm could lead to greater benefits.

This stands in stark contrast to vasopressin, another neuropeptide involved in social behavior, which showed no such effects.

These findings suggest that oxytocin could influence not just our social interactions but our fundamental moral decisions, potentially offering new pathways for understanding psychiatric conditions that involve deficits in moral reasoning.

In the ever-evolving quest to understand human attraction, a new study published in Aesthetic Plastic Surgery has confirmed what many have long suspected: when people look at a female butt, their eyes are magnetically drawn to one place first—the intergluteal cleft, better known as the infamous butt crack.

Because this research is so vital for understanding the course of human destiny, researchers, (using eye-tracking technology), analyzed the subconscious visual habits of men and women when presented with images of female buttocks.

The findings? No matter the gender, people just can’t help but take a peek at the crack.

However, men and women have slightly different preferences when it comes to other rear-end details.

For as long as humans have been aware of their mortality, we have sought ways to soften the existential weight of death.

Some turn to religion, others to philosophy, and some—according to recent research—find solace in the transformative power of psychedelics.

A groundbreaking study published in the Journal of Psychoactive Drugs suggests that folks who use psychedelic substances report significantly lower levels of death anxiety, not because of the substances themselves, but because of the profound, transcendent experiences they facilitate.

When life throws challenges our way, support from friends and loved ones can make all the difference.

Whether it’s a kind word, a reassuring hug, or a simple pat on the back, these gestures help us navigate difficult moments.

A recent study published in the Journal of Nonverbal Behavior explores the impact of supportive touch and verbal encouragement on self-esteem, self-efficacy, and emotional well-being.

Words of Comfort vs. A Hug: What Works Best?

We like to think we’re rational creatures—masters of our fate, captains of our soul, and all that.

But the truth is, most of our decisions aren’t made through cool, calculated logic.

Instead, we are heavily influenced by cognitive biases—deeply ingrained mental shortcuts that shape our choices without us even realizing it.

Some biases are helpful.

They evolved to keep us alive in a dangerous world where quick decision-making could mean the difference between life and death.

But in our modern environment, a few of these biases are exploited by Limbic Capitalism to work against us, leading us to make impulsive financial choices, avoiding personal growth, and settling for soul-crushing mediocrity.

If you’re feeling stuck, broke, or weak and ineffective, these three cognitive biases might be quietly running the show.

Let’s break them down—and more importantly, learn how to override them for a stronger, wealthier, and more resilient life (btw, I wish I learned this stuff in my profligate youth).

What Is Liminal Anxiety?

Liminal anxiety is the unease, uncertainty, and emotional turbulence that arise in transitional life phases. The term "liminal" comes from the Latin word limen, meaning "threshold"—a fitting metaphor for moments when we are no longer who we were, but not yet who we will become.

These in-between spaces—career changes, breakups, relocations, personal transformations—are often filled with self-doubt, instability, and fear of the unknown.

For most of human history, staying single for life was about as common as a unicorn sighting.

Sure, maybe a lone monk here or an eccentric aunt there, but generally, society expected you to find a mate, reproduce, and keep the species chugging along.

Fast-forward to today, and lifelong singlehood isn’t just a niche lifestyle—it’s a full-blown societal trend.

But this raises some awkward questions.

If enough people decide that relationships are more hassle than they’re worth, will humanity eventually go extinct? And, more importantly, are lifelong singles actually happier than the poor souls trudging through married life?

Let’s dig into the research and find out whether lifelong singlehood is the secret to happiness—or the first sign of civilization’s demise.

The Tree of Life is a widely used tool in Narrative Therapy, designed to help people explore their identity, strengths, and personal history using the metaphor of a tree.

Created by David Denborough and Ncazelo Ncube-Mlilo, this approach encourages individuals to reflect on their roots (past and culture), trunk (skills and values), branches (hopes and dreams), leaves (support systems), and storms (challenges)—all in a way that highlights resilience and growth.

Sounds lovely, right?

But what happens when someone feels completely disconnected from their roots?

When the past doesn’t feel like a source of strength but rather a tangled mess—or worse, a void?

Can the Tree of Life still be helpful for someone who feels placeless, adrift, or even cut off from their past?

Let’s explore both the power and the potential limitations of this intervention, with an honest look at where it shines—and where it might need a few modifications.

When Sarah and Matt Deptula walked into my office, they were in the middle of a standoff—not with each other, but with Matt’s parents.

The issue? Their 2-year-old daughter, Ella, and a Facebook-worthy meltdown over a boundary they’d set with her grandparents.

“It started with the snacks,” Sarah explained, visibly exasperated. “We asked them not to give Ella sweets before dinner. They said, ‘Of course,’ but the next thing I know, she’s scoffing down chocolate bars the size of her head.”

Matt chimed in, “When I brought it up, my mom acted like I’d accused her of a crime. She said, ‘Grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandkids! You’re too strict.’” He sighed. “Now she’s posting these vague memes on Facebook about how kids today don’t respect their elders.”

The Backlash Begins

The Martinez family is like a lot of families I see—tight-knit, fiercely loyal, and loaded with intergenerational quirks that are equal parts endearing and exhausting.

Carlos is 36, the middle child of three, is the founder of a thriving PR firmand a self-described "recovering perfectionist."

He grew up in a household where survival often trumped emotional connection. His parents, immigrants from El Salvador, had faced unimaginable hardships.

They gave their kids everything they could—except, perhaps, the tools to process feelings like guilt, fear, or joy.

“Everything was about ‘working harder,’” Carlos told me. “If I got a B on a test, my mom would say, ‘Why not an A?’ And if I got an A, she’d say, ‘Why not A+?’ I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

His older sister, Sofia, coped by becoming the family comedian, using humor to defuse tension. His younger brother, Mateo, became the “golden child,” showered with praise but burdened by high expectations.

And Carlos? Carlos learned to keep his head down, excel in school, and never, ever make waves.

But now, Carlos was here in therapy, armed with a Bingo card, and a deep desire to rewrite the narrative.

When Charlotte Carter first walked into my office, she had the calm, confident demeanor of someone who had been "handling things" her entire life.

At 35, she was the kind of person everyone relied on—her colleagues called her a born leader, her friends joked she was their "therapist," and her younger sister, Rachel, often referred to her as "second mom."

But as she sat down, a different side of Charlotte emerged. “I should be proud of how far I’ve come,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “But I feel...empty. Like I skipped a whole part of life I can’t get back.”

Her words weren’t unusual for someone who had grown up parentified, taking on adult responsibilities long before she should have.

Charlotte had spent her childhood caring for her younger siblings, managing the household, and emotionally supporting her mother through a turbulent divorce—all before her 16th birthday.

She had achieved a remarkable "glow-up," as social media calls it, thriving despite her early struggles. But the pride of her resilience was always tinged with sadness for the childhood she had lost.

A Childhood Spent Parenting

When Emma Reynolds walked into my office for her first session, she carried more than a notebook and an anxious smile—she carried her entire family.

Not literally, of course, but in the way that cycle-breakers do: as though she had been assigned the role of family historian, emotional janitor, and reluctant warrior, all at once.

“I’m just so tired,” she said, her voice breaking as she sank into the chair. “I’m trying to fix everything—my mom, my dad, even my brother—and it feels like I’m failing. But I can’t stop. If I don’t do it, who will?”

That’s the thing about people like Emma: they’ve appointed themselves the saviors of their families, often before anyone else even realizes there’s a problem to be saved from.